


Cordis Vetitum

by shakespeareintheworld



Series: Forbidden [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, More Prejudices Towards Mages, Novelization, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-03-16 08:02:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13632117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareintheworld/pseuds/shakespeareintheworld
Summary: 'Lay not one eye upon those who descend from the murderer of Andraste'*UNDER REWRITE*





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may recognise the title (maybe, I doubt it tbh) but not the chapter. Well, I decided that I prefer starting stories right from the beginning because it help's me keep flow a lot better than starting it from a random point AND I got a massive inspiration boost as well as a determination boost from seeing other people's fics on here. 
> 
> (Shoutout to LarasLandlockedBlues for being the reason I wanted to push to write this how I wanted to rather than how I think is okay! Please check out her fics! They're so good, my personal favourite is 'Moments Passed') 
> 
> So, here's the re-write!

Another Templar spat at their feet as they walked past.

No remorse for the children as they moved to avoid the black, tar-like spittle, clinging on to one another as they attempted to shrink and hide themselves into invisibility. Atlas scowled deeply but kept her face forward. Better to not make eye contact with a Templar. From her side she heard the same Templar mutter slurs under his breath before loudly shoving more of the thick, black tobacco between his lips. The stench from the dried plant reached her nose and it wrinkled in rejection. Atlas quickly sped up her steps - as much as she could through the thick snow - moving to shield a few of the children from the grotesque man.

The cold wind of the infamous Frostback Mountains burnt their skin and chilled their bones, the unforgiving, bitter nature of the cold eating away at Atlas. She longed to be back into the warm breeze of Ostwick. Though the feeling that plagued the mages and Templars was clouded and grey, stormy and uneven the sky above was bright blue with the occasional pure white cloud rolling with the wind. The suns rays beat down on their cloaked backs, but nothing could cure the layer of frost that had settled on their clothes, teeth chattering and cheeks rosy.

Atlas knew they were not far from the village of Haven. In the distance, through the cracks in the mountains, she could make out the dusky grey pillars of smoke from warm huts and campfires. As soon as she had first spotted them, when they were just barely lines in the orange dawn, she alerted the tired children. They had immediately perked up at the sight of the warmth they would soon be feeling. But now they were not far from the village they were bumping into other groups of mages and sadly more groups of Templars.

The mages seemed to have taken to walking on the left side of the road whilst the Templars walked on the right, a large empty space between the two. No one dared to cross the space. A few mages seemed to subtly slow down to join their Circle in the walk to Haven, conversing nearly silently with the Enchanters about the days to come. Most of the Templars ignored them, chatting and laughing with each other, but the occasional one or two glared at their presence (as if they had anything to do about it). A few muttered insults whilst others spat like the man before. A select few made their anger well-known, complaining about what ‘ _their kind_ ’ had done to the Chantry in Kirkwall.

Atlas gasped suddenly as a Templar came up from behind her, barging past and nearly knocking her over into the cold, damp snow below. Stumbling she dropped the books she held in her arms. Snickers and laughter erupted beside her as she bent to gather the now wet books, their pages absorbing as much melted snow as they could. Atlas frowned and flipped one open at a random page; ink had already bled, the words more difficult to read. Exhaling in annoyance she tucked them tighter to her chest, jogging to catch up with her Circle before she was left with the Templar

**~~~**

A few hours and many complaints from the children later, they had finally reached the large gate to the bridge that connected Haven to the rest of Thedas.

It was practically heaving at the gate. Mages and Templars alike were crowded around, picking up warm savoury broth and sweet Honeybeer from traders that sat near the gate. Even in this crowded environment, the two opposing sides had still managed to keep themselves separated from one another, a distinct space between the two. Many travellers had joined the crowds, coming to see what was to transpire tomorrow- to see history in the making.

Their group halted suddenly, Atlas bumping into the mage (she remembered his name was Henry) in front of her. Apologising quickly she stood on her toes to peer over the heads and shoulders of the group. She watched as the few Enchanters of her Circle and the mages that had joined them huddle together. To the side stood Knight-Enchanter Beaumont, arms folded over his chest, his aged face stern in expression. His eyes were focused on First-Enchanter Florence as she spoke with the others, head nodding subtly every now and then. The First-Enchanter quickly looked over her shoulder and said something to Beaumont though Atlas couldn’t make out what. With a faint nod in reply Atlas watched as the Knight-Enchanter shrugged the satchel he had been carrying from his shoulders and searched inside the worn leather.

Slowly he pulled out a green and gold piece of fabric and Atlas immediately recognised it as Ostwick’s Circle banner. Beaumont then waved a Tranquil over to him, in their hands a large wooden stick. He took the stick and wrapped the corners of the banner to it, securing the fabric tight before raising it into the air. The fabric was worn; it looked as if it had been patched up in a few places. It flapped quietly in the wind, standing out amongst the sea of red.

Then Atlas watched as the Enchanters and mages dispersed from one another. The Enchanters re-joined the Circle whilst the mages disappeared deep into the crowd, vanishing from sight in the sea of cloaks.

“Alright Ostwick, let’s go and rest for a moment.” First-Enchanter Florence called over the hum of voices that surrounded them.

The children cheered in joy and ran after Beaumont as he walked towards a small clearing next to a trader. They giggled and laughed as they went, weaving in amongst people’s legs and around Beaumont. Through all of his seriousness, he couldn’t help but grin with the young mages. Atlas smiled before she and the rest of the Ostwick Circle followed, a sense of calm finally coming over them after weeks of fear.

Atlas quickly found herself walking beside First-Enchanter Florence. The older woman’s face was calm but Atlas felt as if she wanted to say something, a small furrow to her brow.

“I’m surprised you’ve carried those books all the way from Ostwick.” Florence wondered aloud after a few moments of silence walking between them.

Atlas startled at her voice and looked at her. The Enchanter stared back with warms eyes and a soft smiled upon her lips. “It’s quite a feet. Not many would be so dedicated to a few books, no matter how important they are. They must be very important to you.”

“They’re just books on healing spells and remedies.” Atlas admitted timidly, “I thought they could be of use. They don’t cover everything but they cover enough.”

“Not the books I pictured you to have.” Florence chuckled as they reached the small clearing, “You were pitched to be the next Knight-Enchanter once you were raised to Enchanter.”

Atlas’ eyes widened at Florence’s admission, “You were so talented in your offensive and defensive magic. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you had surpassed Beaumont in your first week as a Knight-Enchanter. It surprises me to see someone thinking about everyone else in this day and age rather than themselves.”

Atlas smiled and shrugged. “Though defence is key with our current situation, I knew the children and their health came first. I’m not the greatest healer but I’m willing to try.”

Florence nodded in understanding, her eyes falling fondly on their Circle’s children. They were sat on the ground in a small circle, patiently waiting as Beaumont and an older woman passed warm Honeybeer to each of them.

Atlas and Florence reached the group of children and were immediately given their own mugs of Honeybeer from the woman and Beaumont. The man whispered something into Florence's ear before walking away, leaving a slight blush on her face that didn't escape her notice.

“Thank you.” Atlas murmured with a smile on her face as she gratefully took her mug from the older woman. She nodded in reply, wrinkles crinkling and folding on her face as she smiled back.

A soft tug on the base of her cloak brought Atlas’ eyes downward. One of the young mages was staring up at her with big blue eyes and a gapped tooth grin. Across the top of his lip was a small moustache of golden liquid. Atlas laughed at his appearance and crouched down to his level. Balancing her cup on the ground beside her she reached out to the boys face, swiping her thumb across his upper lip. His nose instantly wrinkled in embarrassment as the other children giggled at what happened, his chubby cheeks blushed. Ruffling the boys hair and re-draping a part of his cloak over his shoulder Atlas straightened up, grabbing her drink on the way.

“Lovely children aren’t they?” Atlas suddenly heard the old woman saying, her voice raspy.

Smiling Atlas nodded, “They are. They can be mischievous at times but they’re still wonderful nonetheless.”

The old woman chuckled, “That’s children my dear. They’re a handful but they’re also a treasure. Are you attending the Conclave then my dear? By the cloaks and the banner I assume you’re a Circle.”

“We are but I’m not attending the Conclave. I never made it to Enchanter and they need a high standing mage to stay with the lower mages and children in case of emergencies.” Atlas replied, sipping the warm brew in her hand.

The old woman was about to reply but was interrupted by the loud creaking of the gate. Atlas whipped her head around and watched as unfamiliarly dressed soldiers heaved the gate open, a large symbol of an eye and sword stitched and imprinted on their armour. Mages and Templars quickly began to flow through the gate and onto the bridge, the sound of conversation flowing with the crowd. With a panicked expression Atlas quickly met her eyes with Florence’s and the woman nodded at her quickly. Atlas then pulled her books tighter to her chest and quickly downed as much of the boiling brew as she could, not savouring the sweet taste.

“I’m so sorry,” She gasped as the older woman gently took the half empty mug from her hand, “I must be going or else I’ll lose my Circle and they’ll shut the gate! It was nice chatting to you ma’am.”

“That’s alright my dear. I hope you and your people get everything you want.” The woman replied with a kind pat to Atlas’ hand.

Atlas sped over to the young mages and helped them up with her free arm before joining Florence in a chain with the children. Her hand gripped the blue-eyed boy's tightly as they headed towards the gate, guided by Beaumont and Ostwick’s symbol.

**~~~**

A few minutes later, through a short time of shuffling and accidental elbowing with unknown faces, they had passed under the large stone arch of the gate. Atlas had briefly made eye contact with one of the unknown soldiers at the gate; an intricate tattoo of black ink covered the left side of his face. The man had stared back at her with a stony expression, making her snap her eyes forward and swallow thickly.

' _Obviously these people are not here to be our friends._ ’ Atlas thought to herself as they walked through a small forest of Fir trees. Snow dripped onto the ground from their branches with small plods; one particular plod missing Atlas’ shoulder by a few centimetres, startling her and the blue-eyed boy. Atlas quickly moved as much as she could away from the tree’s dripping area, having enough of being cold and wet from the time being.

Soon they reached the bridge that lead to the path that would lead them to Haven. The smoke pillars clearer and so much more distinct now that Atlas could almost taste their smoke in her mouth as she stared at them, her body shivering from the phantom warmth she felt run through her body. More of the unfamiliar soldiers dotted the pathway and all across the bridge. Atlas didn’t know whether their presence was comforting or not. Maybe they were there in case the Templars acted up?

‘ _As if, they’re here to watch if the mages act up._ ’ Atlas thought bitterly.

Glancing to the side of the bridge Atlas felt her face pale and her heart pick up as she saw the drop that was under her feet. White mist shrouded the bottom, making Atlas unable to see what rested at the end of the drop. She wasn’t the only one who had noticed what lay under their feet as she felt the blue-eyed boy attempt to run back to the gate. Strengthening her grip on his hand just before he slipped from her grasp she pulled him back to her.

Quickly the boy wrapped his arms around her legs. Florence had obviously felt the disturbance as Atlas heard her call for the Circle to stop moving, confused murmurs sounded amongst the mages. Atlas looked up to Florence who gave her a stern but confused look.

“We must keep moving Atlas.” She called to her, eyes now flickering to the few Templars that had slowed down behind where Atlas and the boy were. Beaumont stepped up beside Florence, his eyes focused intently on the Templars with a sharp, challenging glare.

Atlas nodded quickly and spared a quick look at the Templars before speaking to the blue-eyed boy. “What’s wrong?”

He murmured something into her leg, arms tightening around them. Slowly she crouched down, prying his arms from her legs and gripping his hands in her one available hand.

“I didn’t hear that.” She whispered softly.

“It’s too high.” He barely whispered again, eyes squeezing shut and face looking down at the floor.

Atlas let go of his hands slowly and tipped his chin up until he looked at her, blue eyes glassy with tears. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re not the only one that’s scared, I’m scared too.”

He continued to stare at her. “Once you’re across that bridge we won’t be far from Haven and soon you can be in a nice warm tent with warm food in your belly.” Atlas pointed up to the sky his eyes followed it until they landed on the pillars of smoke, “There’s Haven, where the smoke is. See how far it is, it won’t be long and you won’t need to travel across this bridge again for a while. Okay?”

He looked back at her for a few seconds, and in those seconds Atlas prayed to Andraste her small talk had worked. Then the boy raised his arms up to her with a pleading look in his face.

“Can you carry me?”

The request was so soft and so innocent Atlas couldn’t refuse and quickly looked down the line to Florence for assistance. Florence nodded her reply and began to walk towards her. Beaumont kept his eyes trained on the Templars who were now slowly walking past their group, eyeing them suspiciously. Once the Enchanter had reached her she took the books from her arms. At once Atlas lifted the boy into her arms whilst Florence rubbed his back in assurance as he buried his small face into Atlas’ neck, arms locked around her. Holding the boy in one arm Atlas reached down and took the outstretched hand of the young mage who had been in front of the boy and soon they were walking once again. Ignoring the stares from the Templars as they did so.

**~~~**

It wasn’t until the sun began to rest in the sky, casting a pink and orange glow across the mountains that Atlas and her Circle reached Haven. The sounds of the bustling but peaceful village was music to her ears, the smell of burning wood from fireplaces and campfires made her shiver in anticipation for warmth. Her fingers and nose almost warmed up to the thought of being near a fire. Atlas was still carrying the blue-eyed boy in her arms whom had fallen asleep just as they crossed the bridge, exhaustion combined with Atlas’ gentle rocking motion sending him to a deep sleep. Without a complaint Atlas continued to hold him, even when Florence had offered to take the young mage from her arms so she could warm her fingers.

Haven was just as busy as Atlas imagined it would be. Tents were the first thing Atlas saw, each decorated with the same eye and sword that was on the soldier’s uniforms. They sat just outside the main wooden walls of Haven. Troops sat dotted around their tents, laughter was loud and rambunctious between them, bottles of mead and ale in their grasps. Some brave soldiers whistled as she walked past, obviously drunk from the bottle in their grasps. Drunk enough to test Chantry law in possibly one of the most sacred places in all of Thedas besides Val Royeaux. Atlas rolled her eyes and walked a little faster, ignoring the stares from other soldiers as she did so.

‘ _It’s like they’re Templars._ ’ She thought grumpily.

Standing by the open gate to the main village of Haven was a tall man armed in the same unfamiliar armour, though his seemed more decorated. Atlas assumed he must have been a General of sorts. She giggled as the heard one of the children mumble “I can see the sunset on his head!” but Florence threw a quick scold over her shoulder towards her and Atlas clamped her mouth shut tightly, a blush tinted her cheeks (even more than they were from the bitter wind of the mountains). 

Behind the man were more tents, banners waving next to certain groups. Atlas recognised the symbols as multiple Circles. Atlas assumed that was where they will be staying for the night before the Conclave tomorrow. She frowned as she realised there were not as many Circles there as she thought there would be. There was no sign of Fereldan’s Circle or even Orlais’.

Speeding up her steps (whilst also being mindful of the sleeping child in her arms) she caught up with Florence and whispered in the older woman’s ear.

“Where are the rest of the Circles?”

“They’ve probably already travelled to the Temple and are staying there for the night. We’re the late arrivals, you can see the Starkhaven Circle over there behind the tree. They probably got caught along the coast and the in-fighting when they reached Fereldan. Not to mention what they must have been through in Kirkwall if they travelled through there. I can also see many children there, obviously with no need to bring them to the Conclave they’ll stay here.” Florence replied quietly staring at the tents, working out each of the Circles symbols.

Atlas nodded subtly and they finally reached the General after he dismissed a group of Templars into the main part of Haven. They laughed and boasted about going to the tavern for drinks, their armour clinking loudly as they ran. It was obvious they were just fledgling recruits. The General looked over their group slowly, dark beady eyes staring at each of them before looking up to the banner Beaumont held. His eyebrows rose up in shock and looked back down to Beaumont with a almost half-smile on his face.

“Ostwick, you’ve come far.” He almost chuckled, “And to see so many mages arrive here in one piece all the way from the Free Marches is even more surprising. Starkhaven lost quite a few on the way here, especially in Kirkwall. Has it always been this many?”

“No it hasn’t.” Beaumont muttered darkly, “We did have two more mages with us, both in their mid-twenties. One night they disappeared from our camp near Orzammar. We haven’t heard from them or seen them since.”

The General’s half-smile disappeared quickly and he nodded in understanding. An awkward silence passed between the two men before the General began to count them aloud, marking a tally on the parchments he held in his hand. Atlas and Florence shifted so he could count the children. He smiled softly down at the young mages and they smiled shyly back before looking up at Florence and Atlas for reassurance. Both women nodded at them and the children all smiled widely. Atlas heart warmed to finally see the children begin to relax.

A cough broke her out of her happy trance and Atlas looked up. She found the General staring directly at her, looking awkward before he gestured to the child in her arms.

“Is he yours?” He asked Atlas carefully, treading slowly over his words and Atlas shook her head quickly.

“Is he well?” Concern was heavily laced in his voice, face pulled into the beginnings of a worried expression. Atlas’ mouth nearly dropped open in shock at the sincerity of it.

“He’s healthy.” She reassured the man, shifting the boy in her arms slightly. He grumbled quietly and tightened his grip around her neck, “Just _very_ tired.”

The General smiled softly and nodded before writing on the parchment some more. Then he pulled the parchment off and gave it to the young soldier that stood beside him. The soldier took the parchment from his hand, saluted to the General before he jogged off and into Haven. The General then slowly turned to Beaumont as he scribbled something new down on the fresh piece of parchment. Looking up, the General smiled kindly at Beaumont.

“Everything is in order for now, I’ve just sent your numbers to the Commander.” Nodding in the direction the soldier ran in, “Later on I’ll be back to get basic identifiers from you and your Circle; names, hair colour, eye colour, ages, notable scars and tattoos, all that. If that’s okay with you of course.”

Beaumont nodded in agreement after exchanging quick whispered words with Florence, “That’s perfectly fine with us. As long as I can observe your process as to not in-danger our mages.”

“That’s fine.” The General smiled, “You’re not the first to request that. It’s good to see the care you have for your Circle.”

The General then moved to Beaumont’s side and pointed down the rocky path that resided next to the mage camp.

“There’s a space for you just at the end of the path, near the gate. It should be enough for all of your tents. If not, just come to me and we’ll see to it.” He said giving another sincere smiled towards Beaumont. Then a small frown appeared on his face, “As a precaution, ‘ _requested_ ’ by the Chantry, there will be a small Templar patrol around the camp tonight. I hope you can understand.”

Beaumont heaved out a heavy sigh and his shoulders dropped slightly. Atlas watched as his grip around the stick that held up their banner tightened before Beaumont nodded. Then, the General leant over slightly to whisper in Beaumont’s ear.

“Two of our soldiers will be patrolling with them as a precaution as well.” Beaumont’s eyebrows raised in shock, “A request by the Divine herself. Though there will be three Templars to two of our soldiers, it should help you feel better I hope.”

With that the General patted Beaumont on the back before moving to the side to allow them past.

“Thank you.” Beaumont responded with a slight bow.

Then with a mass of excited children, Beaumont led the Circle towards their camping sight. Once they had reached the surprisingly large empty space Beaumont raised the stick into the air before stabbing it into the ground, securing the banner for Ostwick deeply into the snow-covered earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has just been a musing of mine, something I've been attempting to write for months. I've had three different drafts on here and deleted all three because I never liked the results. THEN I did post one attempt of the story but it just didn't seem right to me in the end. 
> 
> I'm sorry that characters are going to seem OOC because of my slight AU that mages are the bottom of the barrel (Well, even more bottom of the barrel than they already are). I've just wanted to try this forbidden romance between the mage Inquisitor and Cullen. I want both of them to have some real conflict because of their positions. No better way to do it then to amp up the hatred towards mages tenfold and make up new laws that mages have to abide by. 
> 
> All of the slight changes will be slowly explained, as I said, the laws that have been added and the Chantry verse I created just for the mages and Templars. Everything. It's a simple AU but one that I've grown to love personally.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this little mess of ideas, I tried to write it the best I could, I'm not the best writer (which is funny because I want to write books). Chapters should be around 2,000-3,000 words long, it may vary but I want to write large chapters. 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this! Everything is written by me and checked by me so if there are any mistakes I completely take blame and apologise! Comments are entirely welcome, I love to hear feedback and opinions! x


	2. Chapter 2

Atlas wasn’t sure if it was the nerves getting to her or the cold.

It was the morning of the Conclave and Atlas had barely slept during the night. The constant sound of steps walking past her tent as the Templars patrolled made her uneasy, made her feel as if she was back at Ostwick. Only without the protection of thick wooden doors and solid stone walls. During the night she had silently and carefully rolled onto her back as she heard laughter, the sound coming from the Templars as they once again approached her tent. Their whispered words prickled at her skin making her shiver, goosebumps rising with each hushed sound.

Carefully Atlas crawled to the opening of her tent, cautiously avoiding the two other mages that had shared with her, their soft snores pulling a tug of a smile across her lips. Slowly she opened the tent flap and poked her head out. Instantly her face was met with the bitter wind of the mountains, cheeks burning from the onslaught. The sun peered through the distant mountains, the glow of dawn shining across the snow-capped peaks. Moving herself out from the tent she stood up and stretched almost lethargically, stretching all the way up and onto her toes. She groaned quietly at the good feeling the cracks her legs, arms and back gave off.

“Never again will I walk that long.” She whispered to herself through a yawn, eyes trailing over the other tents.

All but two mages were still asleep from what Atlas could see. The tents still had their flaps sealed as tight, keeping as much warmth as they could inside. Faint snores drifted from them a sort of serene feeling across the camp. The two mages that were awake, both donning the Starkhaven symbol on their robes, were sat around the only lit campfire with a small spit above it. Looking carefully, Atlas assumed they were cooking a meat of sorts. A small gust of wind confirmed her suspicions as the smell hit her nose. Her stomach grumbled loudly at the mouth-watering smell of roasting chicken. Atlas had yet to eat properly since she had left the Circle, eating the bare minimum whilst giving the rest of her food to the children. Ignoring the cries for food her stomach projected, she tugged her cloak around her body as if it were a blanket and walked towards what she could now see was a frozen lake.

Never had she seen something like this, the sight almost mystical to her eyes. She thought it was impossible. Standing at the edge of the frozen water, toes just touching the ice, she looked across the lake. The blood orange sky coloured the ice, it was as if fire was trapped under it, vying for a way to escape its entrapment. Squinting her eyes she could make out a large frozen forest at the base of the mountains, the Fir trees sparkling in what sunlight reached their snowy branches. Everything around her almost seemed to shimmer with the snow. Slowly Atlas sat down on the bank of lake, body shivering at the sensation of the cold earth beneath her leathered hands. Resting her chin on her palm and elbow on her knee she closed her eyes and listened to the sounds that surrounded her, birds chirping, rams calling to one another, voices drifting faintly from the village. A content smile stretched on her face.

However, it wasn’t long before Atlas’ contentment was interrupted. Shouting and laughter burst from the soldier’s tent across the way. With no alternative after losing her peacefulness she turned her body slightly to the side and watched the soldiers.

The men and women were beginning to pair up with one another, swords and shields in each hand. Some bashed the two weapons together in-joking intimidation, others twirling the swords around in their grasp. To the side archers armed with their bows faced their targets, tightly muscled shoulders rolling as they began to warm up. They all-seemed well disciplined; it surprised Atlas considering she didn’t even know their army’s name. Her curiosity rose as she watched a large group of Templars joined the soldiers, their red and silver armour sticking out in the snowy environment like blood on white silk. Even with how often the Templars trained at Ostwick, their shouts heard throughout the tower, she had never seen them truly fight like others had. Only the Knight-Enchanters really know what the Templars are like, occasionally training with them.

Maybe that’s why Atlas wanted to be a Knight-Enchanter? _To know how the Templars fought so she could protect herself_?

With one particular loud and commanding shout, the soldiers and Templars were off. Swords clashed and scraped against one another, sparks of friction spat out from each rough contact of the blades. Shields smashed against one another, some blocked rough sword swings with winded thuds. Archers pelted their targets with almost perfect aim. The arrows struck the targets with loud thuds, the shaft of the arrow swinging with the force of the shot. It was almost mesmerising for Atlas to watch. Turning her entire body around she watched the soldiers and Templars train with wide, curious eyes.

**~~~**

It didn’t take long for the training of the soldiers and Templars to wake up the rest of the mages. All of them slowly existing their tents with varied levels of tiredness, all mumbling complaints under their breaths as they glared at the training men and women across the way. The children were up and lively running around the mage camp, their laughter almost music to Atlas’ ears as she relished the sound of their enjoyment after so long without it.

The sun had risen in the sky more, the colours blending from sunflower yellow to a light blue. It wasn’t long until the mages and Templars would have to travel up the mountain for the Conclave. Thedas had not seen such a gathering of mages and Templars in decades. The Conclave was surely going to go down in history as either the biggest success between the mages and Templars, or it would go down as possibly the biggest disaster Thedas had ever seen. Atlas wasn’t sure which outcome she preferred. A success for the mages could mean the smallest thing - a slight increase in their freedom but overall nothing really changing.

She didn’t want that, she wanted **_freedom_**.

Atlas had not moved from her spot by the frozen lake at any point in the morning, too engrossed in watching how the soldiers and Templars moved. She was so into watching the training she hadn’t heard the careful footsteps that had approached her. A small cough sounded beside her and she flinched. Snapping her head in the direction of the sound she saw one of the two Starkhaven mages that had been awake when she had first got up, something wrapped in a small cloth in his hands. They stared at each other for a few seconds his eyes drilling into hers with raised eyebrows before he shook himself and quickly unfolded part of the cloth. Nestled inside the clothes were pieces of the freshly cooked chicken they had been roasting. With a small smile he rewrapped the chicken and held it out towards her.

Atlas was shocked; the chicken him and his friend had been cooking was not that large, just barely enough to feed the both of them. Her mouth opened in shock and stared at the mage, shaking her head slightly.

“Please.” He whispered to her, the thick accent of Starkhaven rolling off of his tongue.

Slowly Atlas got to her feet and walked towards him, the mage walking a few steps to meet her stride. Once in front of one another Atlas smiled widely and took the chicken from his hands, fingers gently brushing against one another. She whispered a small “Thank you,” eyes soft. His face blushed gently before he nodded and slowly walked away from her, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder once just as he disappeared amongst the tents.

That had been an hour ago, Atlas’ stomach satisfied with the cooked chicken that she had finally eaten (well, more like scoffed). She was back to watching the soldiers and Templars, now training in a new formation as if they had been disarmed and only carrying their shield. It was entertaining to say the least, men and women slamming into each other with shields. She wasn’t sure whom this tactic would work against ‘ _at least they’ll be prepared_.’

“Atlas!” She suddenly heard.

Turning to the sound she saw First-Enchanter Florence running towards her. She had changed into her ceremonial Enchanter robes, the familiar shades of green and gold draped over her frame almost regally, the symbol of Ostwick resting upon her chest. What broke Florence’s regal appearance was the panicked expression across her face, cheeks flushed with exertion and the bitter cold.

Scrambling to her feet Atlas ran to meet Florence, concern pulling her brows together. Reaching the First-Enchanter she went to place a comforting hand upon her arm but Florence immediately snatched a hold of her hands and began running back towards the tents, breathing growing heavier.

“Florence what’s-”

“We need your books.” Florence didn’t even turn her head, “Something is very wrong.” Atlas paled and the pair began running deeper into the mages camp, towards her tent.

Reaching her tent Florence almost shoved her inside. Atlas didn’t even care for Florence’s aggression; she understood something was gravely wrong. Florence hadn’t been this panicked since the two healers had gone missing, her screams creeping back into her mind. She ran straight towards her books and seized a hold of them before speeding back out of the tent, almost tripping on her bedroll in the process. Once she was out of her tent Florence grabbed her again and dragged her towards another tent, the Ostwick banner flapping gently beside it.

Just outside of the tent was a large crowd made up of both Ostwick and Starkhaven mages. Panicked and worried voices rattled amongst the mages, reaching Atlas’ ears at an almost deafening level.

Something had the mages spooked and Atlas’ blood nearly froze at the whispered word of “ _demon_ ”.

From the corner of her eye she saw an elderly mage ushering the children into their tent, the blue-eyed boy watching her with wide eyes. Attempting (and failing) to calm her nerves she smiled at the boy reassuringly. He smiled back before he was gently pushed into the tent, the flap shutting quickly behind him.

Seeing Florence and Atlas speeding towards them the crowd parted a pathway for them, the hum of voices growing silent. The mages stared at their passing, some even looking apologetically towards her. Swallowing thickly she sped along with Florence down the pathway. Almost violently Florence threw the tent flaps open, shoving Atlas inside quickly before sealing the tent tightly, cutting them off from the sorrowful stares of the mages.

Atlas almost froze at the sight of Knight-Enchanter Beaumont leaning over one of the Ostwick Enchanters, one by the name of Erin. In the glow of the lamp beside them she could see a thick layer of sweat across the woman’s skin, her chest barely rising. Beaumont’s hands glowed a cool green, trailing a path up and around her body, searching for a sign. Behind him stood First-Enchanter Kenneth of Starkhaven, donning the elaborate white and gold robes the Starkhaven Circle was famously known for. He was whispering words to Beaumont as the man investigated Erin, words Atlas couldn’t make out. Slowly Atlas approached the pair with the books tight in her grasp.

“What happened?” She whispered.

Kenneth turned quickly to stare at her, eyes softening at the sight of the young mage before he looked back towards Erin. Atlas felt a breeze pass her as Florence sped by, a damp cloth in her hand. Reaching Erin’s side Florence draped the cloth across her forehead before she gently traced her fingers across the mages cheek.

“Everyone began waking up for the Conclave, but Erin still slept so were assumed she needed the rest.” Florence murmured, her eyes trained on Erin’s face, “An hour passed and we realised she had not moved in that time. She wasn’t responding to our voices.”

“Something is definitely there, I can feel it. What it is, I don’t know.” Beaumont whispered.

A cry of protest sounded from the mages outside before the tent flap opened. Atlas whipped herself to face the source of the disruption.

It was a tall, blonde haired man; a deep red surcoat was wrapped around his armoured chest, the dark fur mantle ruffled in the slight wind that had escaped into the tent. Beside him was a young fidgety Templar; a veil of fearful perspiration coated his forehead and his fingers twitched for the pommel of the blade at his side. He wasn't from her Circle that was for sure, she didn’t recognise him. Whoever this fledgling Templar and armoured man were, they were clearly here to assume the worst of the situation. The blonde haired man stared down at her with an intense expression causing the hairs on Atlas’ neck to rise.

Without a second thought she slowly shifted herself in front of where Erin rested, blocking her from the man’s view. Once still she looked him directly in the eyes and sent him a challenging stare, arms tightening around the books as she felt her body begin to tingle with the presence of magic. She knew it was a risky move especially with the twitchy fledgling behind him but she wasn’t about to let him, or the Templar, hurt Erin.

To her surprise, all the man did was meet her challenging stare with his own, dark blonde brows pulled together and chest puffed out. The pair glared intently at each other undisturbed for a few moments, the world around them gone.

“It’s definitely not demons,” Beaumont announced from behind her and she heard the collective sigh of relief resound from Florence and Kenneth, “It’s some kind of illness. Something she must have picked up on the way here and it's  _now_ taking a toll on her.”

The blonde man kept his intense glare on Atlas, “Understood. But on the off chance you are wrong Knight-Enchanter, I will be leaving a Templar by her side.” Atlas’ stare went from the challenging glare to a full scowl disdain emanating from her presence. The man continued to glare back, his eyes becoming more piercing.

Puffing her chest out Atlas went to retort but was cut off by the feeling of a hand on her shoulder. Looking she found it was Beaumont, he had stood up straight from his leaning position but he still had one healing hand over Erin, his eyes stared at Erin’s face.

“Maybe it would be wise to leave a more experienced Templar here _Knight-Commander_ Cullen. You know how trigger happy _your_ kind can get.”

The blonde haired man, the Knight-Commander, startled slightly at Beaumont’s response, a newfound irritation in his expression as he registered the words. Atlas also felt the words sink in, her anger growing more intense the longer she knew the man in front of her was _thee_ Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, purposely trying to intimidate him. Her angry didn’t deflate as she watched the Knight-Commander’s expression slowly turn from irritation to – _Sadness_? A frown was deep on his face, tugging the scar that cut across his lip. Slowly he nodded and turned to walk away but then paused in his step.

“I’ll send Knight-Captain Rylen over shortly.” He said over his shoulder, tone unreadable.

Knight-Commander Cullen briefly made eye contact with Atlas once more before stalking out of the tent. The fledgling that was with him stumbled away after, near enough crashing into the closest mage outside of the tent on his way, armour rattling in what Atlas assumed was fear. Vomiting out words as his apology he proceeded to run after the Knight Commander, the sword in its sheath swinging wildly at his side.

Kenneth chuckled disbelievingly at the scene with a shake of his head.

“Where do these people find these recruits?” He mumbled aloud.

Turning to face Beaumont, the man rubbing his mouth in a worried manor, Atlas stared at the older man. Florence walked up beside him, her hand tucking itself in his own. Their fingers intertwined slowly and familiarly, the action causing a small smile to spread across Atlas’ lips. Kenneth walked to Atlas’ side and gently took the books from her arms smiling at her softly before flipping through the books, eyes darting across the worn pages.

“Do you have a healer amongst you?” Kenneth inquired eyes not leaving the pages.

With a shake of his head Beaumont sighed, “No, our healers went missing near Orzammar. I’m the next best thing we have; most of our mages here are either Apprentices or standard students. The few Enchanters we have are offensive or defensive inclined, not healing.”

Kenneth’s shoulders drooped and his eyes met Florence’s. “I’ve checked around the other Circles here, none have an experience healer. All seem to have left for the Conclave. They won’t be back for hours.”

“We might not have hours Kenneth.” Florence whispered, squeezing Beaumont’s hand tightly as tears creeped into her eyes.

‘ _No_ ’ Atlas thought in a panic, ‘ _She’ll get better. She has to_.’

“The only chance she has is if I stay here, but then you’re down one Enchanter.” Beaumont mumbled, hands glowing back over Erin in a vain attempt to heal. “They may not except you. We declared ahead of time that we would have five Enchanters exactly; they’ll think we’re up to something if we go in with four. It could jeopardise the entire Conclave.”

Florence sighed heavily, slowly walking over to a small log and sitting down, head in her hands. Kenneth joined Beaumont at Erin’s side, the two flipping through the pages and conversing quietly. Atlas walked towards Florence worrying her bottom lip between her teeth before she crouched down in front of the woman, a hand on her knee thumb stroking her leg in a comforting motion. It wasn’t much for reassurance but Florence looked at Atlas with a small, unconvincing smile.

“What’s going to happen?” Atlas questioned quietly, eyes wide with worry.

Florence bit her lip. “Whoever is closest to being an Enchanter is who we’ll have to take.”

“Who’s that then? Do you want me to get them?”

“It’s you Atlas.” Florence nearly whispered hand gripping hers.

Atlas’ eyes widened at the reveal. _She was that close to becoming an Enchanter_?

“B-But I know nothing about the talks? How could I - ” She stammered.

“I know Atlas, I know. But we _need_ you Atlas, the Circle _need_ you.” Florence looked at Atlas, blue eyes pleading. “Please Atlas, we need five Enchanters to get into the Conclave. No one has to know you’re truly not an Enchanter, just wear Erin’s robes.”

Atlas stared into the tear-filled blue eyes in front of her. Florence clasped her hands in hers barely allowing another “ _Please_ ” to pass her lips. Sparing a quick glance to the side she met the grey eyes of Beaumont, the same pleading expression in his face. Slowly, breathing in deeply, Atlas began to nod.

“I’ll do it.”

Florence gasped in joy and tugged Atlas into a tight grip, all tension from her body gone as she almost sobbed into Atlas shoulder. Hugging Florence back tightly Atlas began to feel the nerves creep into her system.

 _She was going to the Conclave_.

**~~~**

Atlas fidgeted with the strange, new robes that covered her body. Erin was much taller than her; the robes sagged on her body and rubbed against her skin in an uncomfortable, almost abrasive way. The bagginess of the robes also meant that cold bitter air and snow found its way into her robes causing a constant chill over her flesh. Atlas wrapped her dark green cape around her body tightly, trying to will away the chattering of her teeth. She couldn’t wait to be inside in the Temple and into the warmth.

The final crowd of mages and Templars were climbing the final part of the mountain to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. A myth turned truth. Atlas could only imagine how many mages and Templars were inside of the Temple – _was it even able to hold that many_? 

The Ostwick Circle had completely integrated with the Starkhaven Circle, Florence and Kenneth leading them through the snowy path. Snow covered trees coated the mountain side as the path was outlined with the unfamiliar soldiers, smiles upon their faces as they directed them towards the Temple. Many wished good luck and best hopes towards them but Atlas couldn’t tell if they were genuine or not, even though she couldn’t tell she still smiled politely back. Beside them, like when they travelled towards Haven, were the final groups of Templars, their voices boastful and their armour clanking loudly.

“Do you know much about the Temple, Atlas?” She heard Kenneth ask over his shoulder, a slight nod of his head inviting her to his side.

Atlas shook her head quickly at his question, almost feeling a little embarrassed by her lack on knowledge. Florence looked over her shoulder and smiled warmly at her, she too nodding her head for Atlas to join them at the front of the group. Tugging her cape and robes in a way that allowed her to move more freely, she sped up through the snow. She quickly reached Kenneth’s side and smiled at the older man.

“All I know is that it was found during the Blight and that the ashes found inside were said to have healed a man from a fatal illness.”

Kenneth nodded, “Aye, that’s right. It was found by the Hero of Ferelden; or should I say Queen now, I wonder which title she prefers?”

“I thought it was Warden-Commander.” Florence chuckled, stepping over a stone in her path.

“She does have many titles, almost as many as an Orlesian Noble could buy.” Kenneth joked, an almost boyish snicker escaping his lips as Florence lightly slapped his arm in a playfully disapproving manor.

Atlas, completely missing the joke, stared wide-eyed at Kenneth, wonder filing her irises. “Queen Elise – she found the Temple?”

“You really don’t know much about this, do you lass?” Kenneth asked surprised, even Florence raised her eyebrows at Atlas.

Atlas flushed in embarrassment, eyes suddenly snapping to the ground and hands tugging the clock tighter around her body. “No one really talked about the Blight in the tower. Many either had family in the Blight or were directly affected by it. They didn’t like to talk about it.”

A silence fell upon the three as Atlas continued to stare at the ground, a little humiliated that she knew so little compared to her elders beside her. _And they thought she was good enough to be an Enchanter? What were they think –_

Gently and slowly, Atlas felt an arm wrap around her shoulder and she found herself being pulled into Kenneth’s chest. His warmth hit her and seeped into her bones, unconsciously she lent into his touch.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” He said to her in a comforting tone, rubbing her arm reassuringly. “Would you like to know the tale, I can tell you it if you’d like?”

Atlas smiled bashfully and looked up towards the Enchanter who was smiling down to her. She nodded her head and watched an even larger grin spread across his lips.

“Well it started with Elise and her companions in Redcliffe; Eamon, the Arl of Recliffe was extremely sick. Unable to unite Redcliffe for the Blight without him, Elise went to search for the Ashes of Andraste, knowing that they could’ve been the myth that they were always claimed to be – ”

A sort of silence fell across the group as Kenneth began to tell the story of Hero of Ferelden. Atlas stared in wonder at him as he spoke, the man lost in his telling of the tale. Unknown to him, even the Templars that walked beside them had too gone silent, all smiling and listening to the tale of the Hero of Ferelden. For a few minutes, it felt as if the world was at peace.

**~~~**

Finally reaching the top of a large stone staircase, one that felt like there was over a thousand steps, Atlas couldn’t believe her eyes.

The building that sat before her seemed as if it came right from the pages of books she read as a child. Two large towers stood either side of the centre building; they loomed over them like giant guards, their presence almost intimidating Atlas were she stood. The colours of the building shone white, red and gold, standing out amongst the green of the trees that covered the mountainside surrounding them. The symbol of the Chantry rested above the large door into the Temple, the gold metal glinting in the sunlight that seemed to shine down upon it like the holy building it was.

The unfamiliar soldiers heavily guarded the entrance to the Temple; weapons decorated their bodies as they held papers in their hands. They seemed to be stopping every group of mages and Templars that approached them, almost interrogating all that they came into contact with. Atlas felt nerves surge through her body as Kenneth pushed her towards Florence, the woman immediately grabbing a hold of and pushing Atlas behind her.

Atlas watched as the Starkhaven mages joined Kenneth as he stepped away from them, the mage that gave her the meat smiling warmly at her. Atlas smiled back and waved shakily at him. Their gold and white robes blended perfectly with the building, they looked as if they belonged to it. Kenneth gave Atlas a reassuring look, sensing her nerves, before turning towards the soldier that had approached them.

“Ostwick is it?” Atlas heard a woman say as she approached them.

“Yes, we’re the five Enchanters we sent word about.” Florence replied, a nervous crack to her voice.

The woman kept a stony expression, as she scribbled nothing down on the paper after counting them out, then she flipped the paper over. “Everything looks good. If you would pass through the door and keep going forward until you reach a second set of double doors, they should be open so just go into the hall. Your banner should be beside your seats.”

Florence nodded. “Thank you.”

The woman didn’t reply and stepped aside, face still stony and eyes trained on the papers on her hands. Florence, sensing the unwanted feeling from the woman, ushered Atlas and the rest of the Circle towards the door catching up with Kenneth and the Starkhaven Circle before they got too far ahead. Once they stepped inside the Temple Atlas was stuck with a wave of warmth. Shivering almost violently she yanked her cape off, allowing the warmth of the building to sink into her bones.

Suddenly Atlas heard a loud bang from behind her. Spinning around she was met with the thick oak doors of the Temple now sealed shut, the last of the Templars and mages walking around their group and heading into the Temple, voices echoing against the stone of the building.

“The easiest part is over,” Kenneth chuckled almost darkly as they began to move deeper into the Temple, “now for the talks.”

Atlas trailed along behind the mages, their group being the last of all the mages and Templars, allowing her to take in the environment surrounding her. She was just as mesmerised by the architect inside of the building that she was with the outside. The ceiling was sky high; golden chandeliers hug low from it, candles in their holder winking at her. Stained glass windows visualising the story of Andraste took up the walls on either side of her, the sun beaming through the glass, colouring the white stone floor at her feet with rainbows of wonder. Everything about the Temple seemed unreal, almost too good.  

A sudden shout that bounced through the hall she stood in made her blood run cold. The shout was distressed, a panic thick in their voice. Atlas spun around where she stood, looking for a sign of movement, a sign of help. She found herself alone in the hall, the Ostwick and Starkhaven Circles had already disappeared through the doors and into the main hall. She couldn’t just burst in their with the news, the talks had probably already begun.

Another cry had her eyes falling on a small wooden door to the left of the double doors into the main hall. Whatever it was, it was beyond that door. Swallowing thickly she clenched her jaw and jogged towards the door, heart beating erratically in her pumping blood throughout her body at an unrecognisable speed. Her brain as she jogged began to think of all the scenarios she may encounter; possibly a murder scene or something much worse.

_Who would even be foolish enough to try something at the Conclave, the most important talk to happen in Thedas in years?_

Atlas reached the small wooden door just as a third cry sounded from the other side, her hands beginning to shake. Gripping the handle with a knuckle-whitening grip she yanked the door open, heart caught in her throat. She was met with a long, stretching hallway, windows decorating the left side of the passageway, another door resting just at the end of the hall.

Carefully she walked towards the door at the other end – _it didn’t hurt to check_. She kept her steps light and nearly silent on the deep red carpet that stretched the walk, staying to the middle of the hallway and as far away from the walls as possible, the sunlight casting her shadow onto the wall and painting beside her. After what felt like hours she had finally reached the door, dropping her cape from under her arm beside her she gently pressed her ear against the wood, holding her breath.

“Someone, help me!”

The voice was loud and clear, a woman, fear coating every letter of her words. Without another thought Atlas built up her magic in her bones and swung the door open with a loud crash, storming into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! Extra-Long chapter because it took me awhile to update :) 
> 
> I do apologise for the lateness, I'm not the best to be honest at having a schedule. I'm also writing another story on here so it's juggling between writing the pair of them (I'm also beginning the process of re-writing the other to the level I have written this one). 
> 
> Our first glimpse of Cullen! In the original idea for this chapter it was just a random Templar who comes into the tent but I thought it would've made more sense for the highest ranking Templar (even though he's ex-Templar) to be the one to check the situation. Especially since most of the higher Templars would be at the Conclave already. 
> 
> I was going to tell the whole story of Elise and the Temple but I thought best not for now, maybe I'll add it in later OR I'll tell it properly in another chapter, maybe by Alistair? Who knows!
> 
> Obviously from the next chapter onwards, a lot of in-game dialogue will be used (thank the heavens because I'm so bad at dialogue lol) so pre-warning everyone. I will adapt what I want to change to suit the AU and my specific character! 
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this! Everything is written by me and checked by me so if there are any mistakes I completely take blame and apologise! Comments are entirely welcome, I love to hear feedback and opinions! x


	3. Chapter 3

There was an eerie silence over the mountains.

Not even the sound of the wind whistling through the crevasses was heard – no birds, no mammals, just silence. Cassandra and Cullen had barely whispered a few words to one another as they had journeyed up the mountains, both unsure what to say, Cassandra especially unsure. She’d seen the dark look over Cullen’s face when they had first ran into each other in the panic that had erupted in Haven; she could almost see the memories that plagued his mind at that moment. She knew it was Kirkwall that was haunting him this time; the similarity between then and now was uncanny. She could see him blaming himself all over again. Sparing a look at the silent man beside her as they approached the doorway (or what remained of it) into the remains, Cassandra could see the fear and anger through his blank, professional expression.

Reaching the doorway Cassandra looked through the empty space into the ruins; fires burned on anything that it could latch onto, the earth was scorched black, a dark fog blurring the view and a foul stench floated with the breeze. Wrinkling her nose in disgust she looked back to Cullen as he directed soldiers to guard the doorway, leaving Knight-Captain Rylen in-charged of them. The two exchanged a deep but quick look amongst friends before Cullen turned to face her, his expression quickly retreating back to its professional blank slate.

With a nod of their heads they then passed under the empty doorway into the destruction, Cullen inhaling sharply at the sight before them. Cassandra quickly realised it wasn’t a dark fog that hovered above the ground but instead it was smoke that rose from the scorched earth, almost as if the ground was burning under their feet, ready to open up and engulf them in flames. The smoke carried itself up into the air and crept through the mountains like a dark shroud, rolling down to the chaos that was Haven. Giant black stalagmites protruded from the earth in a perverse reminder of where the Temple’s walls once stood. Patterns of green laced its way through the rock as they pulsed and vibrated with magic that permeated the air – the same magic that loomed over them in a swirling vortex.

Dark clouds churned around the vortex, smokey tendrils intertwining with vivid green coils. A long, long twirling trail of green weaved its way down from the vortex, down into what Cassandra assumed was the remains – where the Conclave was being held and where the disaster erupted from. Chunks of what appeared to be debris and rocked floated around the centre of the vortex, casting haunting shadows on the world below, threatening to fall at any moment.

Cassandra, Cullen and their soldiers barely had time to react as a sudden surge of magic spat out from the remains, travelling through the trail up towards the vortex. The ball of power struck the vortex’s centre with a loud crack, a wave of green rippled across the sky from with a powerful force, leaving behind black storm clouds in its wake. Magic crackled across the sky, green arcs of lightning forked across the clouds. The ground quaked beneath their feet and rocks crumbled down from the remains, many struggled to stay on their feet as worried shouts and cries sounded amongst them; in the distance snow spilt from the peaks of the mountains, rolling down in small avalanches onto unsuspecting Nugs and Rams below.

After a few moments of shaking, the ground stopped shifting allowing Cassandra and Cullen stumble to right themselves. Many soldiers around them pushed from the ground, uniforms dirtied by the blackened earth. Exchanging a quick look of concern between them Cassandra and Cullen stared at where the surge had come from, the vortex above them swirling and coiling more aggressively. Rumbles began to echo through the storm clouds as now began to fall from them in large, freezing clumps that burned when they landed against bared skin. Wiping a large snowflake from her cheek Cassandra stepped closer to Cullen.

“Something is powering it.” Cassandra murmured to Cullen, keeping her voice low from the soldiers behind them that were whispering worriedly to one another.

Cullen barely nodded his head in reply, an angry look across his face breaking his professionalism. “Something **_or_** someone. It would be a miracle if anyone has survived this – even if they were the cause.” Cullen swallowed thickly before lowering his voice even more, “Is the dwarf sure it’s not – that it couldn’t be – _him_?”  

“The ‘dwarf’ is right here, _Curly_ .” Varric chuckled out from behind the whispering pair, a small smile on his face as he fiddled with his crossbow, “And I’m sure as shit that _Anders_ is nowhere near here.”

Cassandra frowned suddenly and spun around to face Varric, a glare in her dark eyes. “It’s odd that you don’t know where Hawke is, _yet_ you know the whereabouts of that abom – _Anders_. Strange that you wouldn’t know where you own friends is.”

“Considering that you, _Seeker_ , banished the pair from Kirkwall without so much as warning us, I thought you’d realise that they would be together?” Varric replied as if it was obvious, a small smile and raised eyebrow thrown back at Cassandra, “I mean, how can I contact someone if I don’t know where they are? And she hasn’t tried to contact me - probably too busy running from the Chantry and your Seekers no doubt.”

A snarl pulled across her lips and Cassandra took a sudden stride towards Varric, hand wrapped around the grip of her sword, only to be stopped by a tight grip on her arm from Cullen. Varric stepped back from the pair, wiping snow from his crossbow with a smile on his lips.

“Calm yourself Cassandra.” Cullen whispered in her ear, “Now is not the time for this. You can interrogate him again once we’re back at Haven, for now I need you focused on the task at hand.”

Glaring at Varric for a few moments longer, the dwarf smiling back, Cassandra made an angry noise before shrugging Cullen’s grip from her arm. Turning her back on the dwarf she gripped her pommel tightly. Varric almost laughed at the display from Cassandra, shocked at her unprofessionalism but concealed it behind a loud, chesty cough, Cassandra tensing her shoulders at the sound in anger.

Sighing deeply Cullen shook his head at the interaction, wiping snow from his hair before turning to address his soldiers, a slight puff to his chest. “Alright men, I need ten of you lining each side of this clearing and five of you searching amongst the ruins for signs of anything at could help us. Be prepared for anything, we do not know what could be here.”

A group of seven soldiers remained when the others filtered off into their respective positions, exchanging weary looks amongst themselves. “You seven will be accompany Seeker Cassandra and I deeper into the ruins, beyond that arch. Varric, I need you to head back down the mountains to Haven and report to Leliana, tell her what we’ve found so far and what we’re doing.”

Varric chuckled before saluting Cullen mockingly, a scow spreading across the man’s lips as he watched. Hoisting his crossbow into a better position Varric walked back from where they came, running a quick hand across his head and shoulders to remove some of the snow that had settled there, mumbling about the cold along the way. Cassandra glared after Varric until she could no longer see him through the snow and smoke, her frown almost hurting her face.

“He’s lying to me, I just know it.” Cassandra said to Cullen, her eyes not leaving where she had last saw Varric.

“He may be,” Cullen replied, “But for now I need your focus here with me Cassandra.” He placed his hand on the woman’s armoured shoulder lightly.

Breathing in deeply Cassandra nodded slowly, raising her hand to pat against Cullen’s that rested on her pauldron like an anchor. Turning around she gave a half-hearted smile to Cullen before they led the soldiers towards the arch. They quickly crossed the clearing, the soldiers scrambling to keep up with their long strides. Before passing under the arch Cassandra threw a quick glance over her shoulder to stare around the clearing. Something felt off to her and she couldn’t quite place it. With another once over of the clearing she walked under the arch into the remains of a short hallway. Stone crumbled down from above her head, unstable cracking noises echoing through the stone.

**~~~**

A giant moving mass of green rested in the centre of the remains, down on the lowest level of what once the Temple, crackling and sparking with magic. A low humming sound vibrated through the air from the stalagmites that closely surrounded them – Cassandra felt vibrations deep in her chest and almost cringed at the unfamiliar feeling. The trail of green that weaved it’s way down from the vortex just above them stopped there, the end of the trail curling itself around the moving mass like a lovers caress; close and passionate. The magic that permeated air seemed to almost weigh against their bodies, Cassandra’s ears felt blocked from the force of it pressing against her. Squeezing her eyes shut she shook her head quickly, trying to shake away the feeling from her ears. Her eyes snapped back open when she heard a pained groan from behind her. Looking to her side she found Cullen leaning forward and breathing heavily, his face scrunched up in dizzying agony as the magic thrummed painfully against his still lyrium-infused skin, a shake to his body and a slight sheen of perspiration on his forehead.

Cassandra immediately reached out towards Cullen and grabbed his arm. “Cullen if you need – ”

“No.” He spat out, the pain clear in his voice, “I’m not taking it. I’m fine – I just need a moment.”

Cassandra’s lips thinned in worry but she nodded nonetheless, not willingly to confront Cullen in that moment. She couldn’t distract him with such matters, even if such matters were affecting his health.

Looking over her shoulder she nodded to the soldier that they had brought with them to the remains, all of them watching their Commander with worried eyes.

“Head down to the mass, see if you can decipher what it is. The Commander and I will follow as soon as we can.” Cassandra ordered, “And be careful, we need you.”

With slight hesitation the soldiers began to slowly climb down the rubble and remains, towards the mass that erratically sparked. Turning back to Cullen, Cassandra squeezed the man’s arm as he let out another groan of pain, trying both to comfort him as well as attempting to bring his focus back to her. Away from the humming of magic around them and away from the memories that she knew were being ignited. Cullen almost went to pull away from her, his face scrunching up in pain as his arm tugged against he grip before he heaved out a deep breath, shoulders drooping. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at the woman beside him, her hand still on his arm, unwavering.

“If you need to go back to Haven Cullen – ”

“I can manage Cassandra.” Cullen sighed dejectedly, “I haven’t been in the presence of this much magic in awhile, and it’s hit me all at once.”

Cassandra nodded in understanding but her worry still remained. Placing a hand on his back, Cassandra slowly helped Cullen stand. He staggered slightly, hissing out in pain and anger before he eventually stood upright. His eyes remained closed for a few moments, breathing in as much as he could before he opened them. He looked down to Cassandra with a half-smile and she took her hand away from his arm, returning the smile as best as she could. They then walked to the edge of the level they stood one, looking down to the soldiers below. The men had made it down safely, swords drawn as they slowly approached the mass of green. As he watched them, Cullen gripped his pommel tightly, leather gloves creaking under his powerful grasp.

“Whatever that thing is, it must be powering the vortex in the sky.” Cullen acknowledged as he watched the mass distort and contort.

Cassandra hummed her agreement, her eyes travelling up the green that led to the sky, snowflakes falling upon her cheeks. The vortex seemed even more imposing underneath – no clear centre, just clouds of green and black swirling into nothing. Wiping her face she looked back down to the mass, the soldiers closer now and shouting words to one another. A sudden spark of red caught her eye and she flicked her gaze over to it, her heart thundering in her chest in fear. When she found what had caused the spark her heart almost stopped and her blood ran cold. She grabbed Cullen’s arm and pointed in the direction of the red.

“Is that – ”

She didn’t have time to finish.

Without warning a bigger and seemingly more powerful surge of magic shot up towards the vortex, directly from the mass. The ball wailed as it travelled up through the air as if it was screaming in agony. Leaning over the edge of the remains Cullen shouted down towards his soldiers over the wailing of the ball, directing them to move away from the mass. Down on the lowest level the soldiers scrambled away from the mass, helping one another up the ledges and onto the level above. Cullen then felt as Cassandra yanked his surcoat, dragging him down to the floor with her just as the surge struck the centre of the vortex with a loud crack, hands over their heads as small flakes of green magic rained down upon them from the sky. A ripple rolled across the sky like before, almost darkening the storm clouds even more.

Then, it was dead silent – no wind, no screams, not even the sound of the magic that was around them. Cassandra pulled her head up from the floor to look above her and gasped at the sight. Frozen in the air were the flakes of snow and magic, even the vortex above them had completely stopped moving. It seemed like time had stopped all but them. She shook Cullen’s arm roughly in a slight panic and the man looked up to where she was looking.

“Maker.” She heard the man gasp.

Suddenly an ear-piercing shriek erupted from the vortex, Cassandra and Cullen slapping their ears as the sound pierced through their skull, almost painfully. Then, they watched in pure horror as the centre of the vortex slowly began to open up, a blinding white light in the centre blinding them, almost as if it was opening up to the heavens above. Around the vortex the clouds grew as black as coal. Beneath her, Cassandra could almost feel the ground trembling again, no viciously but almost as if it was scared.

‘ _The sky grew dark, and the ground began to tremble as if in mortal dread_.’ Cassandra thought to herself as she stared up at the hole that had formed in the sky.

Then a large ball green dropped from the centre of the hole, speeding down towards the mass in the remains. It made no sound as it fell; it seemed almost like a ghost dropping to the ground as around it the snow began to fall again, the flakes of green magic disappearing from the air, the clouds swirling once again. Turning her body away from the ledge Cassandra curled up into a ball, praying under her breath as the ball hit the mass in the remains, magic spewing everywhere with a loud explosion. Green magic rippled over her body and she cringe at the feeling, noting the cries coming from Cullen. Just as the magic rolled over them it rolled itself back to the mass,  torturing Cullen that little bit more. Behind her Cassandra could hear the sound of loud crackling magic before everything seemed to settle back into a low, chest-vibrating hum it was before.

Cassandra’s ears rang loudly as she sat up slowly, her body shivering from the onslaught of magic that had rolled across her skin. Beside her Cullen seemed to be shouting towards the soldiers, his face once again scrunched up in pain. She couldn’t make out what he was saying over the shouts as she rubbed her ears, attempting to stop the ringing. Slowly the ringing and shivering began to subside when she felt Cullen tugging at her shoulder, a shocked look on his face.

“A woman.” She finally heard him say.

“What?”

“A woman – a woman is down there.” He blurted.

Cassandra’s eyes widened and she scrambled to her feet. Ignoring the fact she was covered in dirt and soot she peered over the edge of the level of the remains they were on. The mass of green had stopped sparking and crackling with magic, instead it continued to move as it did before but eerily silent. Underneath the mass she saw two shocked and scared looking soldiers staring up at her, both standing either side of the seemingly unharmed body that lay face down on the floor – whoever she was, she wasn’t moving. Without looking at Cullen, Cassandra dropped down onto the ledge below, ignoring the surprised gasps from the soldiers that rested there. Jumping down the second ledge she was at the bottom of the ruins, her eyes only on the woman lay in front of her.

“Is she alive?” Cassandra managed to spit, not realising how angry she had suddenly become, hands trembling.

The soldiers nodded slowly, a strange look in their faces as they continued to stare wide-eyed at her, swords loose in their grasps. Cassandra’s eyes darted between the men and the woman, watching how they seemed to almost be leaning away from her but standing as close to her as they felt comfortable. Something had the men spooked and it clearly had something to do with the woman, though Cassandra was hardly surprised – the woman had appeared seemingly from thin air. Not intimidated by the scared expression on the men’s faces Cassandra walked over towards the woman, throwing a quick cautious look to the imposing mass above her.

She was completely unharmed from what Cassandra could see, bar from the few tears and singe marks across the baggy robes that covered her body. Staring intently Cassandra breathed out a somewhat sigh of relief as she could make out the slow, slightly uneven movement of breathing from her back. Carefully reaching out with her foot, Cassandra nudged her head. The woman remained unconscious, no sound escaping her. Cassandra repeated the action and got nothing but the slight ruffle of the choppily, short auburn hair that sat upon her head. Letting out a frustrated sound she bent down and snatched a hold of the woman’s shoulder, flipping her onto her back without a care.

Her body landed on the ground with a thud, again no sound or reaction in response. Cassandra was shocked at how young the woman looked, not a wrinkle in sight on her face, just freckles arching across her nose. Blood leaked from a small cut on the tip of her cheek and a deep gash slashed through her right eyebrow. Turning her face towards her, Cassandra’s eyebrows raised at the sight of a tattoo under her left eye; trails of circles leading up and around to her eyebrow. It seemed almost familiar but Cassandra couldn’t place her finger on it. Looking down her body Cassandra found her baggy robes dirtied from the char and soot that coated the ground, a large, golden metal clasp blackened rested on her chest.

“Where did she come from?” Cullen asked the soldiers from behind her, having jumped down from the ledges from the top level.

The soldiers stayed silent for a few moments staring at one another before one stuttered out a reply. “She stepped out of the mas – it seemed to open up like a rift in the world.”

“There was someone with her.” The other blurted out, body shaking with fear.

Cullen stared at the second soldier for a few second before his face grew stern, his voice raised. “Who was with her? Where are they now?”

“Andraste!” The soldier squaked, “She stayed in the rift when it closed! She just helped the woman leave!”

Cassandra snapped her head in his direction, a foul look upon her face that had the soldier’s blood running cold. “This woman – this woman right here who is the only survivor of this, the clear culprit, stepped out of a rift with the help of **Andraste**.”

The soldiers nodded their heads quickly, both taking a step away from Cassandra. In the distance on the ledge, the rest of the soldiers were nodded their heads frantically in agreement with their friend-in-arms.

“Behind her, there was a woman who glowed pure white like the heavens above. She seemed to push the woman out into our world – like she wanted her here.” The first soldier explained, attempting to keep his voice calm.

“Maybe she sent her?” The second asked, staring at the woman on the floor.

Cassandra shook her head in disbelief, “Andraste wouldn’t send a mage in our hour of need.”

The soldiers shrunk in on themselves at that, both casting their eyes to the ground. Pursing her lips in anger Cassandra looked back down to the woman – _mage_ – on the ground, her eyes fluttering erratically under her coal coloured eyelids. Gazing over her body Cassandra’s face pulled into confusion when she noticed that the woman only had one glove covering her hands. Crouching back down she lifted her left hand up, finding the remains of her glove around her wrist. The ends were burnt and blackened, as if the glove had been burned away from her hand – but her skin remained intact, smooth with a freckle on the centre of the back of her hand. Turning it over to investigate her palm Cassandra nearly dropped it.

Across her left palm was a deep, glowing green slash. The skin around the edge of the mark was unharmed, as if it had always been there. Pressing the palm against her own Cassandra could feel the magic of the mark hum against her skin, it felt the same as the magic that permeated the air but also felt different – intertwining with her own magic. Whatever it was, it was definitely new and it tied in with the magic that overshadowed them in the sky.

“I recognise her.” She suddenly heard Cullen say angrily from behind her.

Reaching down and over Cassandra, having not noticed the glowing mark in the woman’s palm, Cullen yanked off the round clasp that rested in the centre of her robes; ignoring the way the fabric ripped under his strength. He wiped at the golden metal in his grasp until it glinted in the glow from the hole in sky, finding the symbol of the Circle she originated from. Letting out a sound of anger he threw the metal to the floor, turning his back on the woman as he tried to will away his anger. Taking one hand away from the woman’s, Cassandra picked up the clasp to inspect the symbol herself and sighed out in her own anger.

“Ostwick.” She growled out with a frown, “Another Free Marcher related incident.”

“This could bring war from Ferelden and even Orlais to their borders.” Cullen muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples slowly but roughly.

“It could bring an even worse war to the mages and Templars, another mage has destroyed a holy building – murdering the Divine herself this time.”

Cullen heaved out a breath, straining to say his words. “We cannot be sure she is the culprit Cassandra – ”

“I’m sure Cullen.” Cassandra interrupted, holding up the woman’s palm towards him. “She has a mark which is of the same magic as the what surrounds this entire area.”

**~~~**

Many had tried to offer Cullen any sort of help they could as he carried the woman down the mountains towards Haven. They had believed the woman was the miracle of the Conclave, the lone survivor of the disaster. They didn’t care that she was a mage in those moments where they were blissfully unaware; they cared because they thought she was innocent. Varric felt hope as he watched these people step forward to help, but it never lasted long. Every time someone came forward with a blanket for the woman Cassandra had made it clear that the woman was a suspect, a clear culprit. Varric watched with sadness as her words sank in and the people's true nature showed. Their faces pulled into pictures of revulsion, wrenching their hands away from the woman’s body instantly, as if she would burn them. Many began to throw slurs and insults towards the woman, uncaring if they were falling on deaf ears.

Varric shook his head as he watched the people shout as the word spread, declaring that she be hung for her crimes – some even suggesting that the remaining mages in Haven to be made Tranquil, so they were no longer a danger to the world. Sighing he took a quick glance at the woman, her face close to his. Her features twitched in pain, as if she could almost hear the abuse being hurled towards her. He then moved his eyes across to her tattoo that rested under her eye, the black in curling around her fluttering lid. He squinted his own as he tried to place the familiarity of the tattoo. He knew it was heavily tied to something in Ostwick but what it was he couldn’t remember; he was almost becoming anger at himself.    

The gate to Haven opened with a loud creak over the row of voices coming from the village – the people having somewhat calmed down after the initial explosion. Soldiers and Templars ran around everywhere, carrying supplies up to the gate to be placed up carts, metal weapons thrown haphazardly onto the ground as many scramble to grab what they needed. By the gate Varric saw an exceptional amount of Templars, all lined in a circle around where the mages resides, words balanced on their tips in-between their feet. The mages seemed to come alive as they saw Cullen carrying one of their own, their cries for their sister ignored by the Commander. One particular mage caught Varric’s eye as he struggled against the hold of a Templar, his worn face was stained with tears as he shouted out towards them voice lost over the noise of the village.

Varric almost wished he had caught what the man was shouting; maybe it was the woman’s name?

‘ _It would been nice to put a name to your face_ ,’ Varric thought to himself as he looked back at the woman beside him, her head rolling from side-to-side in Cullen’s grip.

They continued to journey through the village towards the Chantry, almost parading the woman through there like a piece of meat waiting to be devoured by wolves. The villagers murmured confused words to one another as they saw the Commander carrying an unconscious woman; her clothes dirtied and burnt. The hushed words of ‘ _survivor_ ’ and ‘ _culprit_ ’ stood out amongst the rest, Varric cringing when people began to conclude the woman was no innocent – just another crazy mage out to destroy the Maker’s world.

Approaching the Chantry, Varric was unsurprised to see the reaction was worse; Sister’s and Brother’s were shouting towards them, almost on their knees begging for them not to bring the ‘ _tainted_ , _evil_ _magister_ ’ into the Maker’s home, fearful she’ll destroy the Chantry too. He shook his head in annoyance as Cassandra pushed the doors to the Chantry open, shivering suddenly as the warmth from inside it him. It licked across his icy cheeks, goosebumps creeping across his skin as he was warmed right down to the bone. Brushing the snow from his shoulders and hair Varric watched as Leliana and Josephine approached them, both looking tired and worried.

“So this is the survivor.” Leliana murmured softly as Cullen stopped in front of her, glaring down at the woman in his arms.

Leliana reached over and picked up the golden clasp that rested loosely on her chest, a finger tracing over the symbol that was engraved on the metal. “Ostwick,” she sighed, “This is not good. Orlais would demand that the Free Marches take responsibility for this if we’re not careful.” Placing the clasp back onto the woman’s stomach she picked up the ungloved hand, nearly dropping it at the sight of the glowing green slash across her pale skin. She stared up at Cullen, searching for an answer.

“We don’t know what it is.” He muttered bitterly, “All we know is that it’s the same, or at least similar, magic to what is in the sky.”

Leliana nodded slowly, eyes dropping back to the mark in the woman’s palm. Josephine walked around Leliana to investigate the woman for herself, leaning in so close to her face that she could feel the faint puffs of air escaping the woman against her skin. Frowning, she slowly raised her finger and brushed against the skin under her left eye, across the black tattoo. Her eyes seemed to widen as she brushed against the tattoo again before she grasped the woman’s face, tilting it around in the faint glow of the candles that were dotted around the stone walls.

“What colour is her hair?” She asked Cullen quietly but slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair away from the woman’s face.

Cullen gave her a confused look but replied, “I believe it was a reddish colour.” With that, Josephine gasped and stepped away from them, her hand over her mouth.

“I know her.” She breathed out, eyes wide.

“What?” Cassandra asked in shock as Leliana grabbed the woman’s face, inspecting the tattoo before her own eyes widened, turning to stare at Josephine in shock.

“Is that – Is that the Brand of Trevelyan?” Leliana asked Josephine.

“It is.” Josephine confirmed as Cassandra rounded Cullen, looking at the mark on the woman’s cheek. “Only Trevelyan’s by nobility get the tattoo, it’s specially done for them by a unknown artist as far as I know. No one has anything like it.” Josephine snapped her fingers, pointing at the woman. “She must be Bann Trevelyan’s youngest! I had heard they had a mage as their youngest, I did not know that the youngest had been a daughter.”

“Who are the Trevelyan’s? Are they a threat?” Cullen asked, shifting the woman uncomfortable in his arms.

“They’re on of the highest ranking noble families in Ostwick; some argue that they are the most powerful given their status amongst the nobles and the Chantry. All of their children are promised to years of service with the Chantry as Templars – though we can see they’re not adverse to giving their child to the Circle either.” Josephine explained scribbling down notes on the parchment she had in her hand. “I’ve had the pleasure of attending their gatherings and balls from time to time, they’re a very charitable family. From what I’ve seen of their doings in Ostwick, they shouldn’t be an issue.”

“No matter her or her families noble standing, she is a suspect all the same.” Cassandra concluded, pulling away from the woman allowing her head to drop back. “She shall be imprisoned in the dungeons until she awakens.” Cullen hummed his agreement and took a step towards the dungeons before the doors to the Chantry burst open.

Varric recognised the man as the shouting mage from earlier, his face was stained with fresh tears but his eyes were filled with rage. Behind him Varric could see a guard and Templar on the ground, both struggling to get to their feet. The man’s golden armour glinted in the candlelight as he heaved in breaths. The man stared at Cullen, a few moments of silence passing between them before he dropped his eyes to the woman and a choked sob escaped his lips.

“Atlas.”

The man began to slowly stumble towards them until the Templar from the ground snatched a hold of him. Forcing him to the floor, the Templar shoved the man’s face into the stone with a sickening crunch. Everyone stared at the man on the floor, now moaning through the sudden wave of a Silence, body slumping slightly. Varric winced as he saw a small puddle of blood forming under the man’s face, like wine spilling across the floor. Looking to his side he a shared a look with Cassandra before the woman nudged Cullen, snapping the man back into focus – away from staring at the mage on the floor. Cullen nodded his head stiffly at the Templar watching as he brought the mage to his knees, dragging him towards them the sound of metal scraping across stone rattled through the room. Varric couldn’t look away from the man’s face, swallowing thickly at the heavy sight of blood streaming from the man’s nose.

“You know this mage?” Cullen asked, shifting the woman – Atlas – in his arms again.

The man, seemingly ignoring his pain, puffed out his chest at met Cullen’s gaze unfaltering, “She’s one of our Enchanter’s. Newly appointed to the position.”

“And who are you? You don’t sound Ostwicken.”

“Knight-Enchanter Beaumont De Lesseps, I was transferred to Ostwick from Orlais.”

Cullen stared at the man for a few moments, suddenly startling at the sound of a pained groan coming deep from within Atlas. Beaumont struggled in the Templar’s arm, attempting to reach out to Atlas as more pained groans escaped her with a weak cry, finger just brushing against her cheek before he was pulled back by his hair. Cullen looked towards Cassandra with a panic as her groans grew to soft cries, body beginning to twitch.

“Get her down to the dungeons.” Cassandra demanded before she pointed to Beaumont, “Bring him with is, he’s now a suspected accomplice.”

Beaumont tried to protest; attempting to bring forth whatever healing magic he could for Atlas, the cool green glow beginning to spread from his outstretched hand. But the Templar that gripped him yanked his hair even more casting another Silence, a cry escaping Beaumont instead, his magic stopping before it could reach Atlas. Varric glared up towards Cullen and found the man’s mouth twitching with something unknown, watching the scene in front of him; an unclear emotion glazed over his eyes. Another cry escaped Atlas and Cullen’s body jolted, the man quickly turning around and headed towards the door to the dungeon, Cassandra already holding it open.

Speeding down the stairs behind them, Varric tried to ignore the way Beaumont cried out as he was dragged down the stairs, one are behind his back and the other still in his hair tugging at his roots. Varric shook his head as he heard Beaumont’s arm crack behind him, a particularly pained shout following soon after – he wouldn’t have been surprised if the Templar had just broken the man’s arm.

‘ _These people were hired by the Divine to help? We’re doomed_.’ Varric thought as the sped down to the end of the dungeons, guards wide-eyed watching as their Commander carried in an unconscious woman.

Key’s rattling in her hand, Cassandra opened the cell at the end of the way, moving aside for Cullen. Varric was surprised to see Cullen gently place Atlas on the makeshift straw bed that was messily laid out. As he pulled away from her a sudden spark of green magic burst from the mark, making her body jolt violently and her fingers flex in response. An agonised scream erupted from Atlas, everyone in the room cringing at the sound. Cullen backed away from her with a start, staring at her with his hands outstretched – the clear want to help her was there, but it was obvious that he didn’t know what to do, Varric noted.

Varric then watched as Cassandra stalked over to Beaumont, glaring at the Templar as she snatched a hold of the man and dragged him towards the screaming woman, throwing him down just beside her. Immediately the man grabbed a hold of her face, pulling it close to his as he mumbled out her name, a small sob passing through the bloodied lips – attempting to calm her in anyway her could. The green glow emitted weakly from his hands once more, seeping into Atlas’ skin, speeding through her veins to any part that was causing her pain. After a few minutes of screams, her sounds eventually diminished to the soft groans, body no longer jolting violently. A huge sigh of relief escaped Beaumont as he rested his forehead against Atlas, hand gripping her glowing one reassuringly.

“We’ll send for the Alchemist.” Cassandra murmured to him, giving a soldier a quick look – the man saluting and scurrying off down the hall.

“An – an Alchemist?” Beaumont asked weakly, looking away from Atlas towards Cassandra, “What good would that do her? This is magic related, not a minor scrap that can be healed by a poultice.”

“He is all we have.” Cassandra snapped, “All mage-level healers were at the Conclave – all accept you – so now we can only provide what we can. If that doesn’t satisfy you we can leave her hear with no pain relief.”

Beaumont didn’t reply but crowded his body over the younger mage’s, a dangerous glint in his eye clearly saying ‘ _I will not leave her_.’ With a sigh, Cassandra turned to away from the mages to face Varric and Cullen, who had joined his side. She rubbed her face roughly before looking at Cullen, hand covering her mouth, neither sure what to do in that moment.

“S-Seeker.” A voice stuttered from behind them.

Varric turned around to see the soldier who had been sent off; not only was Adan the Alchemist by his side but a bald elf stood just a little ways behind them, a faintly glowing staff in his hand. The elf eyes were intently focused on Atlas, who continued to groan where she lay no matter how much healing magic Beaumont pumped into her.

“What?”

“This apostate says he knows the magic that’s in the sky – that’s on the prisoners hand it’s – ”

“It’s magic from the Fade.” The elf finished for him, stepping forward from the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long to update!
> 
> I've had writers block on this chapter for so long as well as being indecisive as to how I wanted to chapter to start. I know I said in my last chapter's end-note that from this chapter onward it would start from where the game does, but I just started thinking about how the Breach came along and everyone's reactions to it before they had a face to put the blame on so I just started writing this - trust me, this when I first started writing this was a lot different, it started all the way back in Haven just as the Breach was first 'created'. 
> 
> I know I've also specified in the tags that there's a chance for slow updates but I really want to get them out at a good pace for everyone. Doesn't help when you get badly blocked and nothing that normal helps fixes it. 
> 
> But hey! I took some fun liberties with this like how the Breach works, how everything developed and such!
> 
> Switching the 'point of view' isn't going to be a common thing, I'll do it if I feel it's necessary or that it'll add something to the story in a way just Atlas' view won't. Obviously this I had to do it in someone else's perspective because Atlas is in the Fade/unconscious at the time. Back to Atlas in the next chapter! 
> 
> P.S: I have a tumblr if anyone's interested! Find me at: shakespeareinthepark !
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this! Everything is written by me and checked by me so if there are any mistakes I completely take blame and apologise! Comments are entirely welcome, I love to hear feedback and opinions! x


	4. Chapter 4

 

Atlas could feel only pain as she came to - a burning sensation in her left palm sizzling it’s way up her arm.

Her body was stiff, joints aching when she tried to move her body. Groaning loudly she attempted to shift herself onto her side, wincing at the way her arm protested as she pressed it into the floor below. A voice mumbled out to her warm and familiar, a faint touch against her back. Whoever it was she couldn’t hear what they were saying, their voice unclear as if she was trapped underwater Her arm ached, the sizzling reached an agonising peak and she cried out into the cloth she rested on, not caring as the straw that poked through the fabric scratched at her skin. The voice behind her spoke louder their hand fully pressed into her back, a sudden coolness washing over her. The pain subsided ever so slightly, her cries reduced to sniffles. Then she heard more voice - voices that approached at a rapid pace, the sound of metal clanking against metal following with each step.

‘ _ Oh Maker. Am I back at the Circle _ ?’ Shaking her head sluggishly Atlas tried to pull away from the hand that rested on her back, not caring for the way their thumb now rubbed into her robes.

Somewhere nearby she heard the sound of keys rattling and a lock clicking undone, the voices that had approached now shouting at one another, their words slowly becoming clearer. Just as she attempted to open her eyes to see what she believed were Templars, she was yanked from the floor and onto her knees. Sounds of protest from the familiar voice behind filled her ears until a loud slap rang out - the raw sound of metal meeting flesh - her body cringing at the pained cry that followed. Hands gripped her arms painfully as she felt her knees begin to drag across the rough stone, feeling the weak fabric almost graze and tear. Abruptly the strangers stopped walking, forcing Atlas into a kneeling position; by pure chance, her slowly coming to body balanced itself where she knelt, swaying slightly as her mind spun. Her hands were tugged away from her body and she felt the sharp, constricting feeling of both manacles and rope around her wrists, the blood slowly dissipating from her fingertips.

‘ _ What is happening _ ?’ Atlas thought body swaying, her hands beginning to tug feebly at the restraints.

When she eventually felt her body stop moving her head finally clear, she squeezed her eyelids together tightly before opening them slowly, the sudden onslaught of light making her lids flutter rapidly. Her vision was blurry; shapes moved around her voices merging with them. The glint of silver armour in the orange light reflected into her eyes but she noticed the blurred sight of only one red robe.  _ Who were the others _ ? Looking down she focused her eyes on the vice that entrapped her wrists, tugging at it once more. A whispered groan sounded from somewhere beside her but before Atlas could look she heard a sharp bang, a shout snapped in her ears. She jumped and looked back at the manacles, her vision finally cleared.

A faint glow from her hand caught her eye and her brows pulled together in confusion. Carefully she tipped the glowing palm towards her, uncurling her stiff fingers slowly. Her eyes then widened at the sight of a green slash across her palm, glowing veins sprouting from the mark outwards. She could feel whatever it was throb, the veins flickering with each pulse. The mark then sparked, the sizzling burning sensation back in her arm and she cried out, body retracting away from her palm in an attempt to escape.

‘ _ What - what is - ’ _

A door in the distance burst open crashing against the stone of the wall, the wood splintering across the floor. The sound of two sets of footsteps approached Atlas this time, neither of the person’s saying a word. Looking up Atlas instantly shrunk in on herself. She was met with two women, both armed and both glaring at her as they approached. Not an ounce of friendliness on their faces as symbols of the Chantry rested on their armour. One walked behind the other, a subtle but graceful bounce to her step. Atlas caught glimpses of fiery red hair that escaped from the shadow of the purple hood that shrouded her face. The other woman stalked directly towards Atlas, dark short hair atop of her head, face scarred from past battles - a woman of war.

The dark haired woman glared at her venomously and Atlas leant away from the woman as she levelled her face with her own, avoiding the piercing dark eyes that bore into her own.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” She spat with poison dripping from every word.

“What?” Atlas croaked, eyes wide with fear.

“The Conclave is destroyed. The Temple of Sacred Ashes gone. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for  **_you_ ** .”

Atlas let out a sharp gasp, shaking her head jerkily as the woman glared down at her. She couldn’t reply. Her mouth moved but no words could pass through her lips. The distinct, heart-warming voice of Florence flowed through her mind. The woman who had mentored her since she first joined the Circle, the woman who had pushed her to her limits, the woman who always comforted her when she needed it - her only friend throughout her time at the Circle. Shaking her head more firmly she wrinkled her nose, tears trickling down her cheeks as she swallowed thickly.

‘ _ She has to be okay - for her,  _ **_for Beaumont_ ** .’

“You’re lying.” Atlas sniffled, eyes meeting the woman’s dripping with disbelief.

The woman met her stare for a few silent moments before her face pulled into an angry snarl. She snatched a hold of Atlas’ left arm, squeezing it painfully in her grasp. Atlas let out a sharp, watery hiss as the woman bent her palm towards her face, the green slash burning into her eyes - green trails beginning to swirl and creep from the mark. As the green reached her face, fizzing against her skin the mark seemed to react to her growing fear sparking to life between the two women. An agonised howl burst from Atlas’ mouth at the pain, tears rolling down her neck and dripping onto her clothes.

“ **_Explain this_ ** .” The woman hissed before throwing her arm down, ignoring the cry from Atlas as the heavy wooden manacle struck her leg.

Atlas sniffled loudly in the near silent room; her eyes squeezed shut picking desperately through her memories for anything to help her - to be away from it all. She remembered the walk up to the Conclave, the bright smile and laughter of First-Enchanter Kenneth as he told the story of Queen Elise, pulling her body to his to keep her warm through the cold winds. She remembered grabbing a hold of Florence’s hand as they walked up the steep, slippery stone staircase that led towards the Temple, taking each step with careful slowness as the woman whispered comforting words into her ears as she sensed her nervousness. She remembered staring up at the majestic Temple before her, amazed but it’s beauty as it stood out amongst the snowy mountains that surrounded it.

And then -  _ nothing _ .

Atlas’ mind had suddenly became blank, a gaping hole in her memories. Her breathing picked up as she squeezed her eyes even tighter, attempting to force the memories forward; to help her understand, to help her know why this woman knew something she didn’t. A few minutes passed and once again, nothing came. A frustrated sob passed her lips as she looked at the mark in her, the deep throbbing back in her palm. Shaking her head in confusion she looked back to the dark-haired woman that glared at her, bottom lip trembling, the sharp taste of her tears sneaking into her mouth.

“I – I can’t.” Atlas managed to choke out.

The woman’s face pulled into an expression of fury. “What do you mean,  _ you can’t _ ?”

“I don’t know what,” Atlas raised her hands, opening up the palm with the mark, “this is or how it got there! Please!”

Suddenly the woman was on her, striking like a viper. The fingers of the woman pierced into her shoulders painfully, face close with her nose almost touching hers. “You’re lying!” The woman raised a hand of her shoulder, the palm straight and raised to strike.

Atlas recoiled away from the woman, a whimper escaping her as she felt the fingers grip her shoulder even harder. She turned her face to the side, protecting as much of herself as she could from the blow she was about to receive. A moan of protest suddenly caught her ears and she looked forward, eyes finding dark blue ones. Atlas gasped, the woman’s body was yanked from hers with a sharp – “ _ We need her Cassandra _ !” – as she realised who she was staring at, her own body collapsing to the floor.

“Beaumont.” Atlas whispered, voice wavering with emotion.

The man cracked a pained smile, eyes shining through a wince. “Ma colombe.”

Atlas smiled a watery smile, sniffling quietly. Beaumont groaned loudly as he reached out slowly through the bars of his cell, hand shaking with weakness, and Atlas’ smile dropped from her lips. His unarmoured fingers were coated in the remains of dried, flaking blood, fingernails almost blackened from it. Atlas looked over him in a panic – ‘ _ Was he injured _ ?’ – gasping as she found the lower half of his face and neck coated in the dried blood, a deep fresh gash across his cheek and a darkening purple bruise surrounding his nose. Ignoring the painful, wooden manacle that entrapped her wrists Atlas pushed herself towards Beaumont, what she knew of healing magic beginning to bubble in her veins.

Before she could drag herself forward she found herself blocked by the familiar sight of silver armoured feet in her path, a red sash stitched with the likeness of the sunburst dangling between the boots. Her eyes followed the red sash up onto the chest plate, the blood red Sword of Mercy mocking her as she passed over it before she met the Templars piercing grey gaze. Atlas glared up at the man from her position on the floor, a voice in the back of her mind informing her of how vulnerable she was but she ignored it.

“What have you done to him?” She snarled.

The Templar didn’t reply but Atlas watched as his brows pulled together in a scowl before his eyes flashed blue behind the silver winged helmet. She was instantly hit with the faint buzz that was so potently, familiarly lyrium; so potent that Atlas could almost taste the sweet, bubbly taste of it on her tongue. Glaring even harder at the Templar she stayed firm, where she lay vulnerable, the mark in her hand crackling quietly between them.

“Knight Alestan, stand down.” The redheaded woman snapped suddenly, the lit of her Orlesian accent turning venomous.

The Knight jumped, armour rattling loudly in the near silence before he nodded quickly. He threw one more lyrium infested glare towards Atlas before stepping away from her and speeding down the hall, no longer standing between her and Beaumont. Seeing her opportunity Atlas scurried across the stone floor, unaware of the sharp protests from her elbow as she finally reached Beaumont. His hand shot through the bars, faster and stronger than before, and cupped her cheek. Atlas immediately leant into the touch, his thumb rubbing away the tears that trickled from her eyes, his own spilt down his cheeks, cutting through the dried blood.

“What is happening?” Atlas whispered lips trembling, “I don’t know what they’re talking about. I don’t remember anything,  _ please _ .”

Beaumont hushed her as she broke down into loud, choking tears, his thumb rubbing her cheek as he rested his forehead against the bars. He swallowed thickly and bit his trembling lip, unable to find the words to tell Atlas what she had already been told. Taking a deep, shaky breath Beaumont hushed Atlas once more as she let out a particularly loud sob, her body shaking, and the wooden manacle around her wrists rattling. Pulling away briefly he peered over her head to the two women behind, both staring at him expectantly. A harsh sighed forced its way out of his lips before he looked back down towards Atlas, finding her eyes looking up at him.

Eventually he found his words as he stared down at the irises he didn’t recognise. “They’re right, ma colombe.” He managed, “The Temple is destroyed, you’re the only survivor of the disaster.”

Atlas mouthed faint ‘ _ No’s _ ’, leaving heavily against his hand. “But Florence – ”

“Is with the Maker now.” Beaumont murmured, hiding his own choking sob behind a tight lipped smile, “Her, Kenneth, all of them who were there.”

“I just can’t believe it.” Atlas sniffled loudly, “All those people… dead.”

Shaking her head slowly Atlas longed to be able to reach out and hug Beaumont – to feel and engulf herself in his familiar, family comfort he always radiated. Instead she leant further into his palm, ignoring the metallic smell of blood that lingered on his hands, her own fingers curling around the bars that separated them. Faint footsteps approached them breaking their moment, Beaumont looked up to see the redheaded woman, a kinder expression upon her pale face. The other woman, Cassandra, stayed back as she paced along the far wall, a confused expression softening her strong features.

“Do you remember anything? How any of this began?” The redhead asked gently though Atlas did not miss the faint, authoritative tone that was shrouded behind the softness.

Atlas exchanged a look with Beaumont, watching the man nod. Nodding back she sighed as she pressed her cheek once more into Beaumont’s palm, his thumb rubbing her skin gently, before she pulled away from him. Turning around she faced the redheaded woman, looking up at her sniffling quietly. Atlas heard shuffling behind her, a few pained groans mixing in with the sounds of clothes rustling, and then she felt the familiar pressure of Beaumont’s hand on her back, anchoring her.

“I – I remember running.” Atlas stammered, leaning heavily against Beaumont’s hand on her back, “Things,  _ horrible things _ , were chasing me. And then – a woman?” She squinted her eyes in confusion, prying her mind for something.

“A woman?” The redhead sputtered eyes wide; Cassandra stopped her stalking and looked towards them.

Atlas nodded slowly. “She reached out to me, trying to say something, but then…”She trailed off with a defeated sigh, shoulders drooping as she shook her head.

A few moments of silence passed between the group; the only sound was the faint hum of voices from the world beyond the dungeons. Cassandra walked up to the redhead slowly, hands wrapped around her waist, a stony expression on her face. Atlas shrunk back against the bars, eyes frozen on Cassandra as she reached them, heart beginning to race in her chest. To Atlas’ shock Cassandra nudged the shoulder of the redhead, the two women turning away from her.

“Go to the forward camp, Leliana.” She heard Cassandra order softly, “I will take her to the rift.” 

**~~~**

Atlas screamed as she felt the bridge beneath her feet collapse. Her body tumbled down the crumbling rock and stone, her bones cracking with each piece that she struck in her path. The breath rushed from her body as her back collided with the frozen river that flowed under the destroyed bridge, her lungs scrambling to find air as she coughed. Cassandra struck the ice soon after, her pained shout ringing in her ears as she landed on her side; arm almost crushed beneath the force. Atlas’ heart dropped as the wailing was heard once more, another ball of green magic plummeted from the Breach. Rolling onto her side she curled into a ball as the magic struck the ice with a cracking force.

Atlas and Cassandra quickly rolled onto their feet, and the women watched in horror as a four-fingered hand shout out of the green light, claw like nails piercing into the ice. Just as the hand began to its body forward a second shot out, stabbing at the ice in the same, sinister manor. The demon slowly dragged itself from the dying light and Atlas shivered, realising what the creature was - a Lesser Shade. Its leather-clad head tipped up and Atlas cringed at the sight of its small thing face, eye sockets hollow and empty, its mouth attempting to open through the overgrown skin. An ear-piercing shriek burst from the Shade as it rose up onto its lower body back arching into the sound inhumanly, it’s blackened, knotted skin stretching tightly. Atlas took a weary step back as the Shade began to slink towards her slowly, mouth opening and closing behind the skin, a sick hiss spitting through the holes as a black liquid trickled out.

The sharp sound of a sword being drawn caught Atlas’ attention and she snapped her eyes towards Cassandra, away from the approaching demon. The woman twirled her sword once in her hand, the metal ringing as it swung through the air before gripping the sword tightly in her grasp. Cassandra slammed her sword and shield together, the steel smashing loudly catching the Shade’s attention. The demon jerkily turned its head towards Cassandra, body rising up higher before letting out another shriek. Rapidly the Shade lunged its way towards the woman, slithering over to her like a viper.

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra ordered, not even looking at Atlas as she sped towards the Shade, shield raised.

As Cassandra and the Shade met in the middle, she raised her sword in a high arch before swiftly bringing the sword back down, cutting across the front of the Shade’s chest. Thick, black blood spewed from the slice, the Shade’s body recoiling in pain as it let out a sharp wail. Then the Shade lurched at Cassandra, arms swinging down to her, nails lengthening into small daggers. Cassandra yelled in exertion blocking the blow with her shield, her footing on the ice slipping.

Atlas panicked as she watched Cassandra fight the Shade, the woman almost rabid as she took blow after blow at the demon. Spinning around where she stood Atlas searched the remains of the bridge for something – an abandoned sword, a dagger,  _ anything _ . Then her eyes fell onto a tipped over trunk, a familiar shape catching her eye. Without a second though Atlas sprinted towards the trunk, a ball of magic striking the ice where she had been standing. Snatching a hold of the object she yanked it from the rubble, groaning in effort, as it pulled free, a wave of sensations rippling through her body. In her hands was a staff - a small metallic star placed at the tip, glowing blue with the ice magic that had been infused into the wood culminating in the star, and at the other end a sharp, pointed blade. Smiling she twirled the staff around in her hands, hearing the cry of a second Lesser Shade.

Turning Atlas gripped the staff tightly in her hand, the familiar rush of her magic intertwining with the magic of the staff tingling her nerves, her skin buzzing with the feeling. Staring at the demon before her, ignoring the black blood dripping from its mouth and onto its chest, Atlas focused on her magic. It built up in her bones, humming against her hand as she projected the spell down to the staff, swinging it in the familiar dance. Coldness washed over her as the staff vibrated in her hand, her spell combining with it. Raising the staff into the air she muttered the spell under her breath before smash the bladed end into the ice. With a smirk Atlas watched as the Shade was rapidly encased in a thick tomb of ice, it’s shrieks echoing across the mountains.

Spinning sharply Atlas’ eyes widened at the sight of the first Shade gripping Cassandra’s shield, nails digging into the steel as it attempted to pull the shield away from her face. The Shade spat black blood the steel as it hissed, a spec flying over the shield and splattering against Cassandra’s skin. Building up her magic quickly veins burning; Atlas threw a spell towards the Shade. The orange flame burst forth from her palm towards the demon, crackling as it soared through the air. With a loud cry it struck the demon lighting its flesh aflame. The Shade threw itself away from Cassandra flailing violently, a foul stench leaking into the air from as its skin burned. Seeing the opportunity Cassandra stabbed her sword forward, piercing her blade through the demon’s chest until Atlas could see the point of the sword protruding from the other side, caked in the thick black blood. The Shade gurgled loudly, blood spitting across Cassandra’s chest before it melted away into a black smoke leaving behind a pool of black. Cassandra turned to face Atlas, an expression of fury upon her blood-splattered face. But before the woman could say anything Atlas felt a sudden pain slice across her back, stumbling forward from the force.

Looking over her shoulder Atlas saw the second Shade slinking it’s way towards her, red blood dripping from its nails. Attempt to ignore the agonising pain in her back Atlas swung her staff quickly, the bladed-end cutting across the demons neck. The Shade stopped it’s body slumping before Atlas watched as it’s head slipped from it’s shoulder, black blood pouring from the empty place. The head hit the floor with a wet thud before melting away into the same black smoke as the first; it’s body following soon after. Breathing in deeply her body twitching from the pain Atlas turned back towards Cassandra.

“It’s over.” Atlas breathed out leaning on her staff heavily.

Cassandra stalked towards Atlas, expression still furious. “Drop your weapon.  _ Now _ .”

“What?” Atlas stared at the woman bewildered.

Cassandra said nothing as she raised her sword, the point scraping against her chin. Atlas flicked her eyes down to the blood soaked blade before meeting the woman’s dark irises, raising her eyebrow.

“Do you really think I need a staff to be dangerous?”

Cassandra’s body rattled and she took a slight step back. “Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“I haven’t used my magic on you yet.” Atlas pointed out firmly.

Cassandra faltered her sword wavering in her grasp, and then she sighed loudly re-sheathing her sword. She pulled a small bottle from her belt, looking at the green liquid that sloshed inside before holding it out towards her. Atlas stared at the bottle suspiciously before she slowly reached out, taking it from Cassandra’s grasp. Weakly she pulled the cork from the collar of the bottle and then raised it to her lips. Tipping the glass back she shivered at the cool feeling of a healing potion trickling down her neck. Swallowing loudly Atlas greedily drank the entire bottle, body aching for more as she felt the pain in her back slowly subside to a dull ache; it would have to do until she found a mage with healing magic.

Attaching the empty bottle to her robe Atlas rolled her shoulders, stretching the wounds across her back until she grew used to the feeling – she had to be comfortable to be able to fight. As Atlas went to return the staff to the trunk in which she found it Cassandra grabbed a hold of her arm in a light grip.

“You’re right.” The woman murmured, “You don’t need a staff, but you should have one. I cannot protect you, and I cannot expect you to be nigh on defenceless.” She let go of Atlas’ arm as she turned to face her, “I should remember you agreed to come willingly.”

Atlas smiled softly but sadness crept through. “It’s alright Cassandra.  _ I  _ should remember that you have a reason to be scared of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter than I expected but I've cut a chunk out to become the second chapter since there's certain dialogue options I didn't want to cut out. There's just so much to the 'Wrath of Haven' there was no way I was going to get it all into one chapter like I originally thought, and I didn't want to put in EVERY little detail either - I wanted to put in what I felt was appropriate.
> 
> I promise the next chapter will be better, I just wanted to get an update out for you guys!
> 
> Beaumont has become one of my favourites of the characters I've created; my grumpy old Orlesian man. 
> 
> *Ma colombe - Either 'My Dove' or 'My little love' from my research, if anyone who speaks French would like to correct me I would really appreciate it!
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this! Everything is written by me and checked by me so if there are any mistakes I completely take blame and apologise! Comments are entirely welcome, I love to hear feedback and opinions! x


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